


Headlong, adj.

by LtSichula



Category: Original Work, Star Trek
Genre: Based on TTRPG, Other, Post-Dominion War (Star Trek), Pre-Relationship, Star Trek Adventures TTRPG, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtSichula/pseuds/LtSichula
Summary: “'Buried in all those readings,' Sichula would say later, 'were hints of intelligence. I couldn’t allow it to be destroyed without even trying to find a peaceful solution.''I was totally prepared to let it be destroyed,' Weatherby did not say, but did think on a loop for the next six hours.”A Starfleet CSO has some uncomfortable realizations in the aftermath of a nearly-disastrous mission.Canon for Stars I Shall Find, a Star Trek Adventures actual-play series.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Nonbinary Character
Kudos: 1





	Headlong, adj.

**Author's Note:**

> Anything canon Star Trek is being borrowed. I own the original characters mentioned. This story acts as some (mostly irrelevant) background for the actual-play Star Trek Adventures game Stars I Shall Find, which can be found on youtube here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsbGT1tTs2JJQ2E6LZqn8X6zXkiVfdNiw  
> Headlong, adj.'s cast:  
> Sichula | xe/xer: Former ensign aboard the USS Atalanta, recently lieutenant and CSO of the USS Gwenhwyfar. Kelpien.  
> Cmdr. Sage Weatherby | fae/faer: Recently CSO of the USS Atalanta. Human.  
> Captain Abene Velis | she/her: Captain of the USS Atalanta. Species unknown.

The  _USS Atalanta_ boldly went where plenty of men have gone before. That was sort of the point.

The science vessel was tapped for a mission near the edge of the Beta Quadrant, where strange energy readings started to pop up about a year prior. Local scientists had tried but didn’t have the equipment necessary to figure out the who, what, why, how, and mostly importantly the potential risks. The  _Atalanta_ was already en route when it became clear that the  _real_ problem was the ship disappearances the local planetary governments had been covering up. To “prevent a panic,” which was politician speak for “to avoid endangering our tourist economies.”

Commander Sage Weatherby, the _Atalanta_ ’s CSO, heard the news and sighed so loudly a few of the bridge crew ducked for cover. Captain Velis frowned her I Don’t Get Paid Enough For This frown and chose to continue the mission for the sake of civilian lives.

What followed was, well, typical Starfleet bullshittery meeting typical Science Division tomfuckery.

Weatherby manage d to keep most of faer subordinates from tripping ass-over-teakettle into danger, with years of experience and also the memory of  once being a jumped-up Sciences ensign with delusions of genius. Most of them would learn better. The ones that wouldn’t, well, they were usually Medical’s responsibility by that point.  Eighteen months’ time supervising  Ensign Sichula  had Weatherby keeping a special eye on xer. The Kelpien was the best and worst of Sciences rolled into one  lanky package : D riven, intelligent,  and  with all the good sense and self-preservation instinct of a sentient grenade.

S o Weatherby collared the troublesome ones, comforted the more timorous, and kept the labs running like a well-oiled machine as the ship continued its investigation.

The  crew got plenty of fascinating readings, which would normally make this a great run for the  _Atalanta_ . Except they barely scratched the surface of those readings before the cause made itself known by trying to eat the damn ship.

W eatherby shoved every emotion down into the lockbox at the back of faer brain and  put the data aside.  The ship was under attack—curiosity could wait.

A nd then Captain Velis ordered the  _Atalanta_ to fire on the giant, ship-eating cloud of crystal boba.

And the weapons made a sad sort of beeping sound and failed to fire.

And Weatherby realized fae hadn’t seen faer most troublesome ensign in upwards of five minutes.

So, as it turned out,  Ensign  Sichula was one of  the few  whose delusions of genius weren’t actually delusions. Weatherby would’ve rather found that out literally any other way than by watching one of faer subordinates throw xerself out of airlock and directly into the incredibly dangerous  O rbeez dance party going on directly outside the ship’s warp core.

In the distant corner of Weatherby’s mind, fae knew fae should’ve expected something like this. It’s always something when you’re Sciences.

T he rest of Weatherby’s mind was ticking through  reactions  at an untenable pace—fear, shock, rage, fear again, grief, and then numbness as fae finally reached the airlock’s emergency controls.  Too late to prevent Sichula’s unauthorized EVA walk.

Shockingly, the Kelpien survived the encounter. More shockingly, xe managed to communicate with the fuck-off big creature—or, per the data, a collective consciousness of thousands of smaller organisms—and teach it the difference between starship warp cores and its actual food source, causing it to leave the _Atalanta_ and the Beta Quadrant in peace. _Buried in all those readings,_ xe would say later, _were hints of intelligence. I couldn’t allow it to be destroyed without even trying to find a peaceful solution._

_I was totally prepared to let it be destroyed,_ Weatherby did not say, but did think on a loop for the next six hours.

Most shockingly of all, Captain Velis did not immediately throw Sichula into the brig on xer return to the ship. Though Weatherby knew she wanted to.  Instead she  built up a big head full of mad and read the riot act to every local government official involved in covering up the starship disappearances.

When the  _Atalanta_ set course for Earth, it took twenty bureaucrats’ dignities with it.

All in all, the day was saved, they didn’t have to kill a unique and fascinating  lifeform to do it, and the worst crew casualty was a broken arm.  Highly successful, as far as a research vessel was concerned.

_So why_ , Weatherby  wondered , pretending to be buried in data analysis  to ignore the way faer hands  still shook ,  _can’t I stop thinking_ _about it_ _?_

-

_Kiddo,_ faer mother once said,  _never stop asking questions._

-

The _Atalanta_ returns to Earth in September, barely a full month after the Atalanta Incident, as it came to be called. The ship goes into drydock for retrofits and the crew gets cut loose to await new assignments. Normally, Weatherby would have attention to spare for this, but fae spends most of that autumn attempting to keep faer most troublesome, most brilliant, most _annoying_ (and, if fae is being honest, most favorite) subordinate from a court martial. Captain Velis, on the other hand, campaigns through October to have Sichula either locked up or shipped out on whichever outbound mission is headed the farthest away.

Not that Sichula notices, so focused on xer research that  neither Weatherby’s aid nor  Captain Velis’s rage seem to register.  Weatherby  wouldn’t be sure xe even notices xer transfer to the  _USS Gwenhwyfar—_ as its CSO, no less, some people have all the luck—if Sichula didn’t message faer about it.

It takes Weatherby longer than usual to  respond .

Mostly because fae knows  another long diatribe about how  _you could’ve gotten yourself killed_ won’t be welcome, and fae can’t think up anything else to say.

S o Weatherby leaves it,  wondering if Sichula would even notice  if fae never answered at all .

S omeone moving forward that fast probably doesn’t have a lot of attention to spare for someone  who never lived up to faer potential .

-

_There will always be something new to learn._

-

Most of the  _Atalanta_ ’s  former crew get new postings by the time winter rolls around. Sichula, of course, is sitting pretty on a promotion to lieutenant and a CSO position everyone and their dog has been fighting over for the past year. Captain Velis is doing a stint of training runs—Weatherby thinks she intends to beat the stupid out of the next generation  _before_ they  cause any new “XYZ Incidents.”  She looks calmer these days, in any case.

Half the jumped-up Science ensigns have found they’re better suited to planetside research work. The other half apparently still have a taste for danger and  move on to new ships, new captains, new CSOs.  Some of the veteran crew stick around, waiting for the  _Atalanta_ to come out of drydock, but most are too eager to get back to work  and leave Earth before the proverbial ink is even dry on their new assignments .

As for Weatherby, fae has a stack of opportunities—CSO for the  _Elegant_ , research postings aboard no less than three separate science vessels, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge from Emergency Ops, offers to join in the still-ongoing post-Dominion War  reconstruction efforts …

And a teaching position at Starfleet Academy.

A few years ago—hell, a few  _months_ ago—Weatherby would have balked at such an offer.  Not that fae doesn’t like teaching, but...the Academy? Really? When fae graduated, fae had sworn never to set foot back inside, to boldly go into the galaxy and do some groundbreaking, history-making work.

Instead, Weatherby  has spent the past fifteen years babysitting ensigns with more promise, more drive, more  _talent_ than fae has ever laid claim to.  Keeping their heads on straight so they can actually use all that prodigious talent for something. Keeping them from blowing themselves up in pursuit of knowledge.

Failing to keep them from throwing their own damn selves out of airlock to commune with the Blob’s  bubblier cousin.

U gh.

-

_Some new angle you haven’t thought of._

-

L ike the messages fae hasn’t responded to, like the calls from faer parents fae hasn’t returned, and like the research papers fae hasn’t finished, Weatherby ignores the question of which posting to take for a good long time.

Probably too long.

“Sage Weatherby, you are _wallowing_ ,” greets faer one cold December morning at the door to faer apartment. Fae blinks, rubs faer eyes, blinks again. No, yeah, that’s Velis on faer doorstep. She pushes past faer without so much as a _by your leave_.

“Am not,” Weatherby responds, belated from shock, as Velis stands with her hands on her hips in the middle of faer living room. They’ve served together for the better part of seven years, but to be honest, Weatherby has never considered them friends. Hell, Weatherby doesn’t even know her first name or even her species.

Rumors around the _Atalanta_ said Betazoid with color contacts or Trill with a genetic mutation. Medical won’t tell and Weatherby doesn’t like to pry. Fae knows what happened during the Dominion War, when someone’s bad joke about changelings got Velis investigated. The resulting shitstorm left three people dead, two conspiracies uncovered, and a bone-deep terror of testing Velis’s patience in everyone who survived that little debacle.

“And now you are lying to me,” Velis says. She takes in the dusty PADDs and unopened mail strewn over Weatherby’s coffee table, her expression edging toward the classic We Both Know I’m Right frown. “You haven’t taken a new posting yet. It’s been four months.”

“All due respect, Captain, I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Weatherby snaps back, in a tone faer parents would call _spoiling for a fight._

Velis tilts her sunglasses down her nose and says, “Abene.”

“Gesundheit?”

“I’m not your captain, Sage, you can call me Abene. In fact, you’re _going_ to call me that, and you’re _going_ to come to the cafe near Command with me and tell me what in hell is going on with you.”

_Not your captain_ , but she’s still perfectly comfortable giving Weatherby orders.  Command is probably Velis’s natural state.

“I’ve got—things to do today. Plans.” To wander around the park and pet some dogs while firmly ignoring any responsibilities fae has, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes.” The sunglasses slide back up, and Velis strides across the room to stand in the still-open door with an impatient frown. “You do.”

Weatherby holds out an astounding fifteen seconds before blowing out a sigh and following her. “Fine. But I’m ordering something monstrously sugary and you’re gonna pay for it, V—Abene.”

Fae could swear she smirks a little. “I expect nothing less.”

-

_Some other way across the river._

-

Coffee with Velis is weird.

It occurs to Weatherby that this is the first time in seven years fae has ever seen Velis _off-duty_.

The war was a nonstop slog, everyone on alert at all times. After the war—after the changeling rumors and the clusterfuck of an investigation—to call Velis a consummate professional was to call water wet.  _Captain_ became her entire personality, so far as anyone else was concerned.

K inda sad, because Weatherby’ s heard she had a wicked sense of humor back at the beginning.

They get  their drinks—some hard-to-pronounce tea for Velis, a tower of whipped cream and caramel sauce and caffeine for Weatherby— and claim the couch near the fireplace . Velis pays without comment, and the barista smiles at them both, misinterpreting.

W eatherby sinks down into the plush cushions on the couch and manages one sip before Velis demands, “ Now tell me what the fucking problem is .”

Fae  chokes . Velis passes over a napkin, like she expected this.

W hen Weatherby finally stops spluttering, fae says, “There’s no problem.”

“Aside from you ignoring a list of offers most Science officers would kill for and holing up in your apartment since September. What happened on the _Atalanta_ that made you turn coward on me? You’ve always been one of the best.”

Fae can’t help the bitter bark of laughter that comes out at that comment, though fae tries to cover it with a long pull of faer sugar bomb coffee.

V elis hums, puts her tea down, and turns to face Weatherby fully. Her  hands pat on her thighs twice like she’s calling for order —she’s wearing jeans, fae notes, with little pink hearts  printed on the front pockets.

“Which part of that statement was funny to you, Sage?”

Abruptly, Weatherby remembers Velis did a stint in Medical, specifically Psychology, before making captain.

“I don’t appreciate the sense of familiarity you’re trying to manufacture here, _Abene_ ,” fae shoots back. _Deflecting_ , whispers the part of Weatherby’s mind that remembers faer own time studying psych, _and obviously at that_.

B ut it seems to work, as Velis turns again to pick up her tea and spends a long moment just holding the mug in her hands, watching the steam curl above the greenish liquid.

_Seems_ , being the operative word, because the next thing out of her mouth is a flat, icy, “I wasn’t aware it had to be manufactured, Commander.”

T he laugh comes out again, more incredulous than bitter this time. Ears twitch around them but no one turns. This cafe is popular with Starfleet personnel, and it wouldn’t be the first time since the Dominion War that someone’s had a breakdown here. Still, Weatherby tries to modulate faer volume. The Starfleet gossip mill is killer.

“Fuck—Captain—I mean, _hoo_ boy.” Velis waits, stone-faced, as Weatherby processes ten separate emotions at once. “Velis, no offense, but I literally just learned your first name a half hour ago. And as you said earlier, you’re not my captain anymore. Forgive me if I’d rather not spill my guts to you.”

“Forgiven.” The syllables are clipped, but Weatherby thinks fae sees a bit of embarrassment and apology in the lines of Velis’s shoulders. “I was scared shitless, you know.”

“...Pardon?” Quite the non-sequitur, and also a bit of a shock. Weatherby always figured Velis was one of those people who couldn’t feel fear. A bit like Sichula that way, really.

She sips her tea before answering: “When the weapons went down. I thought everyone would die under my watch, that I’d have to watch as that creature ate everyone aboard, starting with that damn ensign. I haven’t been that rattled since the war.”

“Yeah,” Weatherby admits, quiet, “yeah, me neither.”

“And I couldn’t do anything. My first and only response was to open fire. When that didn’t work, I froze up. Maybe it’s not that the incident rattled me. Maybe I’ve just been in a permanent state of rattled since the war ended.”

Velis talks about this like most people would talk about their favorite colors.  Weatherby kind of admires her for it. Fae spent two years after the war in therapy, and even then never quite got to the point of being that comfortable discussing it.

“So,” Velis says, “I say with some confidence that I understand what you’re going through. Though I am sorry I pushed, if you’re not ready or willing.”

Weatherby sucks in a shaky breath, a little choked up now that fae notices. Velis nods, and the silence is almost comfortable as they both finish their drinks.

She stands up when both cups are empty, and Weatherby makes a choice.

“Hey,” fae says, and she pauses. “Let me get you another one of those…whatever-it’s-called, and we can talk.”

As she sits back down and Weatherby heads to the counter to procure new drinks, fae can’t help thinking,  _Holy shit, that smile could kill people._

-

_A bridge, a boat, a brave leap._

-

It’s a long, bitter talk. They migrate from the cafe to a diner for lunch as it drags on. By the end of it, though, Weatherby feels lighter than fae has in months, if not years.  Even if it doesn’t quite shake loose all of faer insecurities, it all least pulls the covers off them, and that’s the first step.

In some ways, it all boils down to the war. It changed people. Changed Starfleet. And it was hard to change back.  Hard to  take your finger off the trigger and learn to trust the galaxy again.

In some ways, it has nothing to do with the war and everything to do with pride. Weatherby went into the Academy feeling like fae could take on the galaxy. Then fae met the sort of people who actually  _do_ take on the galaxy, and felt lackluster by comparison. Almost a decade as a CSO across three different ships, and Weatherby wasn’t the one who realized the creature could be reasoned with.

Rather, Weatherby didn’t even try to find out.

Did the war do that to faer,  so much time shooting first and asking questions later that fae forgot how to ask questions at all ?  Was it  the responsibilities of the job? Or has fae always been like this, not curious enough, never pushing enough, to ever leave faer mark on history?

That night, fae goes over faer posting offers again.

And finally, two months overdue, sends Sichula a response.

-

_T_ _he best solution isn’t always the obvious one._

-

[to: Lt. Sichula of the Gwenhwyfar]

[from: Cmdr. Sage Weatherby]

[subject: re: New Posting]

Sup, sphinx,

Congrats on the promotion. What’s that old saying, “may you be blessed to have a direct report who’s just as troublesome as you”? Enjoy the karma, sphinx, cuz I sure am.

Hell, I still can’t believe you’re still in Starfleet, let alone a CSO now. The _Atalanta_ could’ve been the end of your career—but let’s not have that argument again. I’m happy for you, for real.

Haven’t gotten my new posting yet, as you can probably tell. I’m thinking I might be done with all that. Got an offer to teach at the academy, might just take it.

It’s not because of the _Atalanta_. Well, it is, but not the way you’re probably thinking. Or—hell, whatever, not like I ever know what you’re thinking. It was scary, sure, and you damn near scared me half to death when you jumped out of airlock like that. But when the chips were down, you acted while I just froze up.

Guess what I’m saying is, I’m not sure I’m cut out for making those kinds of choices.

I’d say “stay safe,” but knowing you, that’s not likely. So, good luck out there, sphinx. I hear good things about Cpt. Krzyżan, so here’s hoping you don’t piss them off the way you did Cpt. Velis.

Bring me back a shiny Shackleton rock or something, eh?

Weatherby

-

_Sometimes you’_ _ll need to sail or swim, but—_

-

Sichula’s response comes in a few days later, just as Weatherby’s getting ready to meet Abene for dinner.

[to: Cmdr. Sage Weatherby]

[from: Lt Sichula of the Gwenhwyfar]

[subject: re: re: New Posting]

Tyrant,

In the past weeks, I have realized exactly how much patience you had with me. I’m not certain I’m capable of the same, but I am trying. Thank you, and also go fuck yourself.

As to your career: I think you would make a wonderful teacher, if you so chose. I only hope you make this decision with a balanced mind. The _Atalanta_ was one incident—one day out of almost fifteen years of service. In my opinion, which I know carries little weight with you, you were an excellent CO. I suspect there are many that would say the same. Meditate on it.

In exchange, I will try to avoid unnecessary danger in the pursuit of science. And I will bring you back the shiniest rock I can find.

Sichula

Weatherby smiles, tries and fails not to feel touched by Sichula’s words.

Decisions can come later. For now, fae has plenty of options and a very important date to get to.

Fae is full-on laughing when fae gets to the restaurant, imagining what faer troublemaker of a former subordinate would make _that_.

Well, like decisions, that particular bit of information can wait. It’s early yet.

But when Sichula gets back from the great unknown, Weatherby’s gonna thank xer for giving faer a demonstration in rushing headlong. Sometimes you stick the landing.

-

_Sometimes you’_ _ll_ _find you can_ _fly instead_ _._

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something about Weatherby, who I'd made as a one-off character to explain part of Sichula's past. Then Velis muscled her way in. This might or might not make much sense without first knowing Stars I Shall Find. Hope it's enjoyable anyway.


End file.
